


The Long Game

by everlit (Ink)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Insecurity, Other, Threesome - F/M/M, boys being stupid, fumbling towards polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink/pseuds/everlit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days immediately following his Very Educational Experience, Dave is forced to conclude that there is only one thing more boneheaded than having a threesome with your girlfriend and her violent rageful ex-whatever who is already boiling over with jealousy at the sight of you: having a threesome with your girlfriend and her violent rageful ex-whatever, who is <i>also sharing a house of four with you in a universe of sixteen.</i></p><p>Dave, Karkat, Terezi, and all the ways reluctant understanding is not the same thing as hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ironic detachment, and other stories

**Author's Note:**

> For homesmut. OP requested lifestyle polyamory, and has generously indulged my need to write ten thousand words of terrible metaphors and boys punching each other first because she is the most patient person ever.

Karkat kisses all teeth--Dave had thought Terezi kissed all teeth, but after putting himself through the demented meat grinder experience that is Karkat's mouth, he has to conclude that no, she has actually been very careful. She only draws blood a little, after all; she's never _gored_ him.

His lip's been split clean open, and it stings, which--contrary to everything the world taught him about barely contained rage and sex--isn't actually hot. It's definitely ironic, though, so Dave forces his face into a mocking smirk. "Wow, tell me how you really feel, Karkles," he says, wiping the blood away.

Karkat has this expression of dawning horror on his face, like he's just figured out that he really doesn't want to be here. Dave--kind of sympathizes, honestly. "Can we just get this over with?" Karkat says.

"Hey, now." Dave points his thumb over his shoulder, towards where Terezi is sitting. "That'd just be some kind of rude. We came here to give the lady a show, didn't we?" She can't possibly find this hot, however much she gets off on their discomfort and humiliation, but she hasn't said a word yet, and there's no way Dave is going to be the one to back down.

Sometimes he thinks his relationship with Terezi Pyrope is one long game of chicken.

Dave steps forward and runs his hands up Karkat's sides, under his shirt. Karkat closes his eyes. His face continues to show a mix of sickly regret and constipation. Terezi's still silent, and if Dave hadn't seen Karkat staring fixedly at a point over his shoulder just a minute ago he would wonder whether she was still in the room.

He's starting to sweat a little.

Fuck. Okay. Plan "Getting This Over With" is officially a go. He unbuttons Karkat's fly and yanks down his pants and boxers all at once. "Maybe this will suit your freaky troll domination fantasies better," he says, dropping to his knees.

Things get better once he puts his mouth on Karkat's dick--if only because Karkat goes through some very amusing contortions trying not to moan--but between this and the way his stomach clenches uncomfortably every time Terezi so much as touches Karkat, Dave counts his very first threesome experience as a pathetic failure.

Not a spectacular failure, mind you. Not even a resounding failure. There are no explosions or gruesome deaths decorating their landscape of hilarious incompetency, just one particularly ugly three-legged dog, inspiring a strange combination of pity and disgust in the observer as he watches it limp awkwardly into the sunset.

It's great comic fodder, though. Gotta look on the bright side of these things.

 

***

 

"Okay," he tells Terezi, after Karkat has stomped out of the house, probably to rage and thresh the air or whatever other Karkat things he usually does, "we are definitely never doing that again."

Terezi shrugs. "Sure, whatever."

That? That was way too easy. And maybe it's because she's just as mortified as he is, but he doubts it. He's been dating her for months, and in that time he has yet to see any evidence that mortification is an emotion that applies to Terezi Pyrope.

Then she lets her smile turn sickly-sweet and says, "It's okay, Dave. Do you want to talk about it? We can _cuddle._ " And okay, yeah, that's his crazy alien girlfriend, right there--

\--but he still doesn't buy it, not for a second. Terezi Pyrope is also master of the long game.

 

***

 

In the days immediately following his Very Educational Experience, Dave is forced to conclude that there is only one thing more boneheaded than having a threesome with your girlfriend and her violent rageful ex-whatever who is already boiling over with jealousy at the sight of you: having a threesome with your girlfriend and her violent rageful ex-whatever, who is _also sharing a house of four with you in a universe of sixteen._ Why did he agree to this, again?

Oh, yeah. Because Terezi smirked at him _like that_ when she brought up the subject, all confrontation and dare, and he was saying yes almost before he knew what to. That, and he thought it would be ironic.

It's probably not ironic to care about the consequences of your boneheaded decisions, but he can't exactly ignore this shit. Everywhere he looks these days he gets a faceful of angry, snarling troll--and Dave may be the coolest of all coolkids, but no one wants to wake up to that ugly maw. "Out of my way, fuckass," Karkat snaps, elbowing Dave away as he makes his way toward the fridge. Dave wonders idly whether punching him in the face would make things better or much, much worse.

"Hey, hey, guys," John cuts in, eyes so big they could almost be black holes, "none of that! We're all friends here, right?"

"You will never catch me stooping so low as to call that heap of steaming musclebeast dung my _friend_ ," Karkat says.

Dave looks from him to John, who at the first sight of conflict is beginning to look like Dave and Karkat have just canceled his favorite television show. "Sure, John. Just some friendly ribbing between buddies, you know how that is."

"Everything about you sickens me," Karkat says. "Everything."

"Yeah, I know, Karkles, I have all the manly and platonic affection for you, too." Dave drains the last of his juice and decides to get the hell out of there before John sheds a single perfect tear and its terrible powers force him and Karkat to hug it out and do trust-building exercises or something.

The weird thing is, they actually were getting along before. Or they tolerated each other, at least, which is about as much as you could ask for considering that Karkat is Karkat, Dave could never resist taking advantage of that, and oh, yeah, that part where they both wanted--want--the same girl. Karkat eventually stopped making cracks about puppets (poking fun at Dave's childhood trauma is never cool, okay), and Dave stopped making out with Terezi in the hallway, and life went on without any punches being thrown over the dinner table. He should have known it wouldn't last.

He doesn't even know why Karkat is so pissed about this. They're one in this, after all; they birthed that hideous monstrosity of anti-sex-appeal together, all three of them. No point in assigning blame, except that Karkat has never faced a problem that he didn't attempt to solve by assigning blame to everyone except him.

Eventually Dave decides that mortification is just one of the many emotions Karkat is incapable of distinguishing from rage. Terezi cackles for a minute straight when he tells her this, which probably means he's right.

 

***

 

He sees the shadows they cast before he can make out their voices: Karkat and Terezi standing in the middle of the kitchen, talking.

"--sure you two had a great big fucking laugh about that," Karkat says, an angry snarl. "Karkat Vantas, the perfect punchline to every joke. So glad I could be of use to you and your hideous interspecies shenanigans."

Terezi sighs, bracing herself back against the counter. "That's not what the point of this was."

"Like fuck. I know exactly what you're trying to do, Terezi, and it's not going to work. I'm not actually that pathetic."

"Is that what you think, Karkat?" she asks, so quiet Dave has to strain to hear her. "Do you think I'm trying to hurt you?"

He can't see anyone's expression from here, but he doesn't need to: Karkat's whole body sags, then, all the anger passing out of him. "I--fuck. I don't know, okay--"

Dave feels, suddenly, like he is intruding on something very private. It's like he's stepped into an alternate universe where Karkat and Terezi are the ones having (really hot, thank you very much) obnoxious sex on every possible surface of two houses while Dave looks on like the world's saddest and most dejected voyeur. (Hopefully in this universe he is still beautiful and is not constantly making the "someone just shoved a nailbat up my ass" face like Karkat.)

As he sweeps into the room, trying his best to block out the image of shoulder-John shaking his head sadly, he presses his mouth to the junction of Terezi's neck and shoulder. "Hey, Rez," he says--it's almost _hey, baby_ , but in the end he discards that as a little _too_ ironic.

Karkat's knuckles clench against the edge of the kitchen island, and oh yeah, there's that nailbat expression. "What the fuck do you want, Strider?"

"Dude," Dave says, "this is my house. Just getting some food. Chill out, would you?"

He wonders if he should tell Karkat that trying to tear the counter apart with his fingers is a bad idea--he might break a nail that way.

"There's a meeting tomorrow," Karkat snarls. "Bright and early, like you humans always say. Are you actually going to be there, or will you be too busy trying out new sexual perversions?"

Dave shrugs. "No worries. We'll get our perversions out of the way first."

"Karkat," Terezi says flatly, matter-of-factly, "you're being an asshole."

Karkat's face contorts into something sharp and pained--not that that's relevant to Dave, of course. Dave is far too cool to care about assholes (ones who are singly responsible for the battery of elbow-bruises decorating Dave's sides) getting what they deserve.

He listens to Karkat storming up the stairs, rampaging bull and sleep-hungry toddler all rolled into one, and goes to get a drink.

 

***

 

"You're being really stupid, you know," Terezi says, after he's gone.

Dave tips back his glass--slowly--and lets the last drops fall against his tongue before he answers. "Was wondering when you were going to get around to chastising me. You've been pretty quiet this whole time."

"I didn't think it was my place to interfere."

Right. Because Terezi and _not my place to interfere_ are two things that belong on the same continent. "Uh-huh. Pull the other one, Rez."

She doesn't say anything for--exactly thirteen and a half seconds, and then she sort of slumps against the counter, her shoulders falling forward. "I'm not ending up as your auspistice. And if I get between you two any more than I am now, that's exactly what's going to happen."

She looks tired. And yeah, okay, he feels bad about that. Hard not to get a little guilty when you're making your girlfriend miserable because you just can't stop poking her ex-whatever with a sharp stick. He puts an arm around her shoulders, awkward. "Master plan not working out how you thought it would, I guess?" he says lightly.

Three seconds while she decides how much she wants to tell him. "No," she says, and gives him a smile that looks like it's about to pass into the next plane. "It's going exactly like I thought it would. That's the problem. It's always the problem."

And then she leans back against him, settling her head in the crook of his neck. "You two are alike in exactly the same stupid ways."

"Don't know about that," he says. "For one thing, I hope I'm not that ugly."

She huffs, elbowing him. "See, that's exactly what I mean. You know?"

He's already safe behind his shades, but he closes his eyes anyway. "No idea, Rez. Might want to turn off the moonspeak there."


	2. two nights, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat and Dave spend some quality time together. There is no way this could possibly end badly.

It is a perfect alignment of catastrophe, so breathtaking in its totality that angels weep. Dave spends the three-hour reprieve he gets before the End Times constructing no fewer than fourteen (14) elaborate scenarios by which Terezi could have engineered it, in concert with various other trolls and humans--yeah, I'm looking at you, Benedict Lalonde--including five (5) where she manipulates Vriska into stealing his luck and one (1) which even involves Eridan. She denies everything, of course. She always does.

This is how it plays out:

Karkat shows up to their grand strategy meeting sporting an expression which is not quite the frat-boy morning-after grimace (he followed his bro to gigs enough to be intimately familiar with that one), but it's close. He doesn't look at Dave. The meeting is about whatever alien creatures have been harassing their Kumbaya nest of peace and joy lately, which is a surprise to exactly no one: nothing is news in a universe of sixteen. He's been listening to Jade fret about the garden for almost two weeks now.

We can't very fucking well let them keep eating our crops, Karkat says, so we're going to have to take out the nest. It's not far from here--they know that because Tavros used his Disney princess powers to ask the chipmunks for directions, but he can't go there himself, no, his legs are down for maintenance again. (Dave suspects sabotage.) He's drawn them a map, at least, which knocks out the hard part: killing the actual creatures will be easy, with their powers. Two of them to do the job, tops. The only problem is that everyone--literally fucking everyone--is doing some Very Important Job right now. The ones who aren't trying to save the plants, at least.

At this point Dave realizes two things.

One, Karkat is so incredibly obsessed with being a Good Leader it is actually a fault. He is not going to push back the Schedule more than he can absolutely help it. He is not going to put anyone on an assignment that is not perfectly optimized to their strengths and weaknesses. He is definitely not going to do either of these things because there might be _interpersonal problems_ otherwise, even if the resulting inconvenience would be small and the interpersonal problems are the size of the fucking Green Sun.

Two, the expression on Karkat's face does not perfectly mirror a penitent frat-boy's because he isn't feeling sickly regret about what he's just done: he's feeling sickly regret about what he's going to do.

"Hey, fuckass," Karkat says, stopping in front of him. "We're going on a little trip. It will be fucking magical and transcendent and at the end I will only want to throw up a little."

 

***

 

It rained yesterday. The air is both hot and damper than a cheap motel in the middle of summer--nothing compared to the furnace-blast of LOHAC, of course, but he's still sweating enough that you might as well slap some gray paint on him and call him Equius. The humidity's beginning to wear on him: moisture isn't really his thing. There's a reason his planet was half lava.

The two of them trudge through the grass like two people cosplaying from Kawaii Desu Racing Snails--so far they've managed to stay in character pretty well. Karkat is six paces ahead of Dave, hunched over himself, every line of his body angled forward like he's actually doing more than two inches an hour. He, you know, might be even more mad at everything than usual. Dave might have had to endure him attempting to activate the Gorgon powers of his race through sheer force of glare.

Luckily for Dave, Gorgons don't come in dick flavor. Or bone bulge flavor, whatever.

But Dave can roll with this. He's cool. He's cool like the ice floes in Antarctica before global warming hit. He's cool like the stray fish stick that escapes from its bag and fuses itself permanently to the freezer wall. He is cool like Dave Motherfucking Strider, deep in the process of perfecting his leaf-overturning skills, because Dave is the star of some postmodern fairy tale where the princess and the evil mastermind are the same girl and the key to happily ever after is _not_ slaying the vicious dragon, and it is just so fucking fascinating. For the time being Dave will focus all his energy on not being an asshole.

Should be easy, right? Karkat's not even saying anything right now, probably too busy coming up with creative new ways to self-flagellate. All he has to do is keep his trap shut for however long they have to play exterminator, and then--

"Walk a little faster, asshole," Karkat says. "We're on a mission."

So much for not saying shit, huh?

Dave closes his eyes and tries really hard to picture Terezi making the sad face. It's actually more like a slightly-less-manic grin face, but that's not the point.

 

***

 

"Jegus, will you go faster? Are you just incapable of walking at a pace that isn't dictated by fucking continental drift? I'm beginning to think you are."

 

***

 

"Seriously, I could have run there, found the damn furbeasts, come back, and staged an ancient tribal dance about the drool dripping from your lips in the time I've spent waiting for your slow ass."

 

***

 

"Will you quit stomping through the fucking grass? We are exterminating shit. We are not trailblazing, we are not at the head of a fucking parade. You will scare away our prey and then how the fuck are we going to find the nest?"

 

***

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] \--

TG: so i know youre probably not actually there  
TG: youre nursing sunflowers perfecting your friend to all living things schtick or some such shit  
TG: but i just gotta say  
TG: it was nice knowing you jade  
TG: and if i dont make it back from this  
TG: which is looking like an increasingly likely possibility  
TG: the sad shell of what used to be dave strider  
TG: driven mad by the otherwordly noises emanating from the jaw of one unspeakably hideous gray-skinned beast  
TG: will wander the foothills north of happytown compound forever more  
TG: his glassy vacant eyes a hint to the horrors hes witnessed  
TG: ones that rival those you might find if you journey to the deepest reaches of the furthest ring  
TG: almost like that one smuppet video with the cucumber but we wont talk about that  
TG: its too hard jade  
TG: too many memories  
TG: anyway if i dont make it back send rose my sketchy quasi-incestuous love  
TG: john can have those repressed homosexual feelings shes always telling me i have  
TG: youll get whatevers left i guess   
GG: oh hey dave!!  
GG: im actually taking a break right now!  
GG: kanaya says she can cover me for a few minutes  
GG: and gee thanks  
GG: i am so grateful :P  
GG: is this about karkat? i know he can be a real asshole  
GG: but he's not that bad! well, most of the time  
GG: hehehe.   
TG: seriously though  
TG: how do you deal with this shit i cant even   
GG: i don't know actually!  
GG: i don't think i really deal with it that well?? mostly i just tell him hes being a fuckass  
GG: and we argue for a while  
GG: and when were done usually we can go back to being reasonable people  
GG: who discuss things CIVILLY AND NICELY  
GG: instead of being nasty and annoying all the time!!!!   
TG: whoa   
GG: oh  
GG: sorry  
GG: i guess i forgot i wasnt actually talking to him  
GG: eheheh.   
TG: no that was pretty illuminating i guess  
TG: but i dunno  
TG: thing is  
TG: i dont think it works that way with us  
TG: this isnt a thing where we bitch at each other for a while and then suddenly its out of our system  
TG: in fact im pretty sure its getting worse  
TG: our bitchery is deeprooted and inexhaustible jade  
TG: you could probably power a perpetual motion machine off his petty rage and jealousy for my enviable existence  
TG: actually why havent we done that  
TG: itd solve our grist crisis right there  
TG: you ought to give me a trollbel prize really   
GG: oh dave  
GG: you are so funny sometimes!  
GG: but really  
GG: it didnt work that way with us at first either? but i think we got to a point where we both realized we had to step off  
GG: and try to understand each other and get along  
GG: and after that things were easier i guess  
GG: anyway i have to go now! i shouldnt keep kanaya and tavros waiting  
GG: ill talk to you later!!  
GG: good luck with karkat :)

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

TG: wait jade  
TG: dont leave me alone  
TG: i am weeping bitter tears over here and you cant even see them

 

Well fuck.

 

***

 

The thing is, Dave understands Karkat pretty fucking well. He understands that Karkat is basically made of various and sundry insecurities that he attempts to cover up by shouting at everyone around him. Karkat is the leader. Karkat is the badass. Everything is someone else's fault. If he says it loud enough he can make it true. He will never be happy unless he is foisting his problems on whatever innocent bystander--

At this point it occurs to Dave that his Sympathy 101 midterm is about to come back to him with a gleeful red F smacked over the top and a note to _see me after class._ He opts for the retake.

Things about Karkat Vantas that are redeemable:

1\. He would be okay looking if he wasn't constantly making the Karkat face.   
2\. When he manages to remove his head from his ass, he's a pretty good leader.   
3\. He can actually cook, unlike Gamzee.   
4\. He bathes regularly--

"You are like a fucking shellbeast on sopor, do you know that? What do you think this is, a scenic tour?"

Dave has never been a big fan of school anyway.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Knott's Berry Farm, actually," he says. "Which way was the Ferris wheel, again?"

Karkat grinds his teeth. "We have a fucking job to do, you nooksucking waste of flesh. Remind me which part of the job description required that you verbally fellate yourself on the way there, because I must have missed that."

Shoulder-John gives Dave a baleful look. _Don't even think about it._

Oh, come on. It would be so fucking easy. Dude leaves himself wide open--

"Hey," he says instead. Shrugs, like it don't matter at all. "Someone's gotta keep Little Dave nice and primed. You wanna volunteer for that job, Karkles?"

Half a second later he's already regretting that one: bringing up the tortured eldritch ghost of hypothetical sexual contact tends to backfire when said contact has already been dragged kicking and screaming out of the hypothetical. Karkat's mouth is open, a wide O, his eyes bulging. His face has gone all splotchy, wine-dark where the blood rushes to his cheeks--

\--and damn if he doesn't make the ugliest faces. Why is he thinking about this? There are about a thousand other things he would rather be thinking about. Like smuppets.

Okay, maybe not smuppets.

"I mean, it doesn't look like you're doing anything else with that mouth," he says, because the words _back_ and _down_ may be in Dave Strider's vocabulary, but they're not together, not in that way.

Karkat snaps his mouth shut, his teeth clicking together. "Fuck you."

"Whoa, hey, moving a little fast there--"

"Do you know what I would like to do to you?" Karkat says. "I would peel the skin from your bones with one of those dull pathetic human paring implements--slowly--and grind it into feed for Tavros's oinkbeast. I would mop up your mutant blood and paint a fucking mural of jubilation on the compound fence. Your bones will serve as my war trophies. The scavengers can eat your mutilated and rotting carcass."

Well, there's only one thing to say to that. Dave shifts from one foot to the other and lets Karkat see his smirk. "Kinky."

Karkat sputters, spits, all rage.

Dave strides past him, double-time, fixing his eyes on some point very far away. God, they've got to get out of here. "By the way, pretty sure you're going the wrong way."

 

***

 

"No, seriously," Dave says. "Look at the map, we're going the wrong way." He's not actually sure they're going the wrong way--Tavros's cartography is about as good as Terezi's cartooning--but hey, they might be, which is the important part.

Karkat doesn't bother looking at the map, because Karkat Vantas is always right. If he were ever wrong the universe would go into so much shock it would forget to exist. "You are a grublicking moron. We are going exactly the right way, and if you dug your head out of your excrement chute for five seconds, fuckass, you would know that too."

Forget the map, he doesn't even look back.

"Sure thing, Fearless Leader. I'll get right on that."

That makes him turn around. "You're trying to provoke me, aren't you," Karkat says, eyes narrowed, and isn't that the fucking richest thing Dave's ever heard--but he just smiles, not unlike a serial killer mid-rampage.

"No idea what you're talking about."

Karkat's shoulders come up--he rolls them back, like he's barely keeping himself out of a fight. "Fuck you." He bares his teeth. "You know what you are? You are a nooksucking douchebag. I don't know where you get off on acting all superior, and I really don't know how halfway reasonable people get suckered by the size of your ego--"

"Dude," Dave says quietly, " _she_ chose me because you fucked up."

He takes the punch square on the jaw.

Dave staggers backwards. Karkat is standing over him, arm still hanging in the air, trembling. "Fuck you," he says, like it's the only word he knows. " _Where do you get off--_ "

"--you fucked up and you know it," Dave says, putting the pedal to the floor as he steers this car right off the overpass, "you had your chance and you fucking lost it--"

This time when Karkat lashes out Dave blocks it--bringing his arm up in front of his face--and ducks under, swinging right for Karkat's gut. He lands that punch--

"--so fucking superior," Karkat breathes, doubled over, ragged. "You rub it in my face every chance you get--well, joke's on you, Strider. Scared she isn't satisfied with you?"

\--and then he doesn't stop.

It isn't pretty and it isn't graceful. There are elbows and knees everywhere, both of them scrabbling frantically for any advantage: Karkat's hands catch in Dave's shirt, his claws slicing through clothing and skin, as he falls and drags Dave down with him--Dave punches out with his arm, jabs up with his knee, doesn't stop (pushes harder) when Karkat's cry of pain reaches his ears. "Just waiting," Karkat gasps out between blows, giving as good as he gets--and fuck if everything about him isn't sharp-- "just fucking waiting for them to figure out that you're--just an--asshole with an attitude--"

"--better asshole than failure, Karkles--"

"-- _and there's nothing fucking there,_ you aren't worth it--"

"--so what kind of a leader can't keep his team from killing each other, huh--"

He tastes blood. Dave is vaguely conscious of how incredibly stupid this is (the better angels of his nature are screaming at him in all their buck-toothed glory) but that thought doesn't translate into action, much less into _stopping_ \--his mind is racing but there is really only him, and Karkat, and the stinging pain. The roaring in his ears is loud. They spit blood and abuse at each other; when that becomes too much, they talk with their fists.

And then that's too much, too, and Dave's left sprawled half above Karkat, fists clenched in Karkat's shirt in a truly pathetic attempt at keeping him where he is--it works mostly because Karkat doesn't have enough anything left to roll Dave off him. His claws dig into Dave's back, his knees dig into Dave's sides, and both of them are gasping in tandem, trying their damnedest to suck all the air out of this planet. "Fuck," Dave says, or he thinks _fuck_ and some grotesque noise comes out of his throat instead. He drops his head down onto Karkat's chest--too much, too much to keep it in the air.

Karkat doesn't say anything. From here Dave can hear every frantic beat of his whatever ridiculous thing the trolls call a heart. It's the world's worst parody of afterglow.

 

***

 

The sun set thirty-two minutes and fifteen--sixteen--seconds ago. The whole world is covered in a soft blue-purple glow, deeper and darker than evenings back on Earth, and it's fucking beautiful and miraculous and moves small woodland creatures (and Gamzee) to tears every night, all of that shit. Jade loves this sky. So does Terezi--if he'd written every line of the sky code specifically for her in some (unironic and desperately uncool) grand romantic gesture, he couldn't have hoped for better than this, and not just because his code sucks.

Thinking about Terezi is probably not the most appropriate thing to do right now.

To his left, Karkat makes one of his dying animal noises, shifting in the grass. Dave uses the tail of his shirt to wipe the blood off his face. Half of him is a bruise, and his head is pounding. He doesn't want to be here right now. He really doesn't want to look at Karkat. So he picks a direction, any direction, who cares, follow your own created line--

"Wait," Karkat rasps. Dave doesn't need to turn to see the conflict playing out on his face, Karkat's leader instincts to keep Dave in his sights (close, safe, a known quantity) warring with his everything else instincts to have Dave as far away from him as possible.

Yeah, okay, fine. Dave Strider understands Karkat Vantas. Happy?

"Relax," he says. "I'm not going far."

"Like I--" Nine seconds and Dave's own breath echoing in his ears before Karkat starts up again. "Fuck," he says, "just--just go. Whatever."

Dave hobbles off towards where the sun isn't, anymore.


	3. two nights, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are unbearably awkward, and Karkat does not stop touching Dave.

Dave doesn't lose track of time. The game's over, dashed to pieces like a kid who's just been told that no, there is no Santa Claus, but the clock in his head will keep on ticking even through apocalypses. He feels every second like the grooves on the debut album of that cult classic, You Just Fucked Up. An old favorite, that one. Bro played it to him in the fucking cradle, said it put him to sleep right quick.

It has been one hour, twenty-two minutes, and fifty-four seconds since Dave decided it would be a good idea to give a vengeful alien a bloody nose. Right now Dave is lying in the grass, stargazing--that one looks an awful lot like a devilbeast head. Dave is kind of an asshole, and he's beginning to come around to the argument that he's pretty stupid, too. He times the beating of his heart to the beat in his head and tries to block out the thoughts.

"Hey, fuckass."

Lovely.

Dave opens one eye, and there he is. Santa Claus, of course; it's a Christmas miracle. Santa's eye has been forced shut by a purpling-over bruise, the color of eggplant on the verge of going bad, and he walks awkwardly, painfully. Getting on in years, that Santa: soon they'll have to put him out to the old folks' home. Santa drops a paper bag by Dave's ear. "Get up and fucking eat something, will you?"

Oh, boy, coal.

"Ho ho ho," Dave says, and pulls himself up, wincing as the strain of motion pulls his muscles in all the wrong way. The bruise, if anything, looks worse from this angle.

Karkat gives him a look. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He's done enough exercising of his witty motherfucking mouth for the day, he thinks. "Nothing." Besides, he really is hungry; he reaches for the bag and shoves half a sandwich into his mouth. Karkat's nose wrinkles, but he doesn't say anything, just plops himself down onto the ground in front of Dave, folding his arms protectively across his chest. He doesn't look at Dave.

Dave chews his food slowly and politely, the way Bro never taught him. It takes exactly eight minutes and forty-five seconds. The sandwich tastes like mush. (There's blood, still, in Karkat's hair, streaked across his horns and his hands--not to mention both their shirts; Dave's pretty sure it's not going to wash out. Not completely.)

"Sorry about your eye," he says, flat like he doesn’t mean it—he might not have mastered being too cool for guilt, but he is way too cool for apologies.

"Sorry about your face," Karkat replies, and almost manages to make it sound like a diss.

 

***

 

Karkat settles into a slouch against the rock, chin tucked into his shoulder, eyeing the ground like it's just beaten him at dodgeball and now he has to shake hands. Dave eyes him with the air of a middle-aged housewife watching _Sixteen and Pregnant_ , and wonders at what his life has become. Terezi's probably left him for a younger woman already; all he has are the brats, twenty pounds of excess fat, and morbid fascination. (Karkat fidgets, the movements not quite human--too sudden, jerky. He moves like someone who never got used to being still, like someone who can't bear to be in his own skin.)

It takes him eleven minutes and twenty-one seconds to notice that Dave's made him his own personal guilt-watching experience. He keeps his head still when he slides his gaze on over to Dave, but his hands twitch like a spasm; not turning around is a awful burden, apparently. His eyes narrow. Can't tell for sure what Dave's looking at, probably--the shades do come in handy sometimes. Dave doesn't say a word; doesn't move, either. The blood's dripping. He can feel the trails caressing his back tenderly, making obscene solicitations against his skin. It's enough to make a girl blush, but he can't move--what would Karkat think? His pure and tender image, ruined forever.

"--you're bleeding," Karkat says. By his tone you'd think Dave was doing it to offend him personally.

"Yeah, funny thing about that. Got into a fight with this dude a little while ago, you know, he kind of scratched me up."

As soon as it leaves his mouth, he realizes it's dumb as fuck--like blowing up a dynamite factory and tossing a match into the rubble to see if anything will still burn--but miraculously, there are no explosions. Karkat actually flinches. He twists against the rock, moves his arms around, tucks his knees up against his chest only to stretch them back out again. It's like he thinks if he moves fast enough, he'll vibrate himself into evaporation.

Then he says, "Take off your shirt."

Dave takes this moment to appreciate the fact that his life is being run by horrorterrors. Horrorterrors who write fanfiction. He wonders if he should appeal to his sweet ectobiological sister, get her to sing the praises of some alternate pairing. Dave/Gamzee. Dave/Equius. Dave/seppuku.

With some effort he bites back his first, second, and third witty retorts, which is probably good for that fragile state of not punching the shit out of each other they find themselves in, but bad for his wordsmith's pride, because what he's left with is basically, "Huh?"

Karkat pulls himself back, as if withdrawing from some threat--oh, yeah, _now_ he realizes his entire existence is awkward. "You're bleeding all over the fucking place," he mutters into his shirt. "It stinks. You smell like a wiggler who couldn't pass his trials."

"You can smell this shit now? What are you, Terezi?"

No maybe about it. Dave is definitely stupid.

Karkat grimaces exactly like he used to before they took Gamzee off cooking duty for good. "I actually have olfactory receptacles that work," he informs Dave, "unlike you and the rest of your weak-ass species."

"Yes," Dave says faintly, staring up at the sky. "Yes, that is exactly how you woo a man, Karkles."

That one earns him fourteen sweet seconds of silence. Karkat's eyes narrow, his mouth works uselessly--it's actually impressive, how easy he is to rile. Then he shuts down, all of him drawing in. He sighs. "It's not fucking difficult," he says resentfully. "I understand that your feeble human thinkpan prevents you from understanding anything more complicated than _See Threshecutioner Cull_ , but this is comically stupid. You are bleeding. This is a problem. We are going to fix this problem using this fascinating and complicated technology--" he holds up the roll of bandages-- "designed for the purpose. See? Simple."

His face is incredibly pained. Karkat, Dave reflects, is the kind of dude who would take a burden off your back just so he could complain about it later. "I can do it myself," he points out.

Karkat rolls his eyes; the disdain of the gesture is only kind of undercut by how he has not yet stopped looking like a cranky toddler. (Someone needs his sippy cup.) "As much as I want to watch you perfecting your one-man comedy routine for an hour, Strider--and I am _sure_ 'Hilarious Incompetency Involving Wound-Cleaning Implements' will be a smashing success--I am going to have to go with _no, you grublicking moron, not unless we want to be here all night._ "

The end of that sentence, it turns out, is also the harbinger for the long-awaited return of the nailbat expression. Its appearance resembles nothing so much as a bucket of ice water to the face: a Rose Lalonde to the boner of Dave's carefully cherished hope that he might get out of this situation without being groped by a hatelustful alien.

Fact: the only thing Karkat Vantas works better than rage is overweening obligation. Fact: his offer to touch Dave in all Dave's tender bleedy places is probably some demented attempt at a peace offering. Fact: miracles abound tonight, because for approximately the second time in the history of three universes, Karkat's logic does not suck monkey balls. The fortress holds steady, unmoved by Dave's feeble protests of _look I can do it myself_ and _jegus fuck don't touch me._ Efficiency and diplomacy: the twin pillars of Dave's doom.

He shucks off his shirt, which is by this time a total pungent mess. "Be gentle now, Karkles. I'm very delicate."

"Oh for god's sake will you ever shut up," is Karkat's reply.

Dave turns and stretches his arms above his head, giving Karkat access to his (tortured and abused) back. Neither of them speaks--it's quiet out there in that field, except for the occasional squawking of a cricketcrow--but Karkat comes and kneels behind Dave, fumbling with his own sylladex. After a moment, he presses something damp to the base of Dave's neck and begins to wipe away the blood. It stings, a bit; Dave forces himself to relax only by thinking about the amount of effort he's already expended into maintaining his own ego.

The silence quickly reaches Equius Zahhak levels of eerie, but there is no backing down from this game of mime chicken. To speak would be a concession to the fact that yes, they are actually here. Karkat is touching Dave, motions careful in a way that belies his scowling, someone-just-pissed-in-my-Trollent-Green expression. Dave can feel the pads of his fingers against his skin. (He must use moisturizer or something; compared to Terezi's sandpaper coating he's downright baby-soft.)

Dave would rather not be making any of these observations--but this is a multiple choice test, and "not being here" is not one of the options.

He lies back and thinks of Smuppets Gone Wild.

The next twenty-three minutes are excruciating on a level previously only found in the office of someone with a DDS. Karkat does not stop touching him. Karkat wraps the bandages very snugly. Karkat's dedication to Dave's mangled flesh is nothing short of impressive. Dave is being a complete asshole, but given that all this assholishness is confined to inside his head, he doesn't feel terribly guilty about it. It's a step up, right?

One eternity, two apocalypses, and innumerable plush rumps later, he hears Karkat get up. "Okay," Karkat says finally. He breathes through his teeth, and then again: "Okay. You’re done."

There's a horrible long second of empty air--it begs to be filled, but Dave can't think of anything properly Egbert-approved to put in there. He shifts away from Karkat, stretching his arms, and reaches for his shirt: ah, shirt, love of his life, sweet savior of his boyish chastity, defender of privacy, virtue, and apple fucking pie.

Unfortunately, the shirt has fallen in the line of battle. It is now an ex-shirt, rest in pieces, brave shirt, so on and so forth. If Egbert was here he would play Taps for the shirt on his nose. Dave just stares at it. He decides it is probably a metaphor for the tangled and bloody mess his life has become.

Karkat just looks at him. His eyes flicker towards the shirt--still half-dangling from Dave’s hand--before he slides his gaze abruptly away. "What is it now, Strider?" he says, sounding like he’s just swallowed something bitter.

It’s going to be a long day, isn’t it. "Nothing. Just contemplating the meaning of my existence, Karkles." He tosses the shirt casually away—god, does it stink—and rolls over onto his side. The grass itches. He can feel a rock digging into his hip, but he doesn’t move until he’s sure Karkat has stopped staring.

That night he dreams about a bathtub full of weasels. They lick so tenderly at his reopening wounds.

 

***

 

He sleeps for four hours and thirty-four minutes, fitfully, in pieces, before giving up and accepting his defeat like a man. Dave Strider knows when to cut his losses, sometimes.

Light peeks in at the edges of the sky, and he can’t see the stars anymore, but the three round moons of the new universe are still hanging there like they think he needs a reminder that everything about this place is alien. Early morning has dulled their luminous yellow—they look kind of like earwax now, he thinks. There’s a rap in that somewhere, or at least a comic joke.

At his side, Karkat stirs. Still asleep, Dave decides; if he was awake he would have complained about something by now. (Karkat sleeps— _when_ he sleeps—like a dead man, silently and soundly. John wakes him with a pitcher of cold water when he misses the alarm, and sometimes just for fun. It’s kind of sad that he knows this.) Should Dave wake him up? He considers it, but not for very long: experience has taught him that he doesn’t want to be within blast radius of whatever forces Karkat from sleep, and also the intervening six hours haven’t made anything less awkward between them.

He still isn’t wearing a shirt.

This is excruciating. He might as well be back at sixth grade Cotillion (Bro’s idea of a good joke), hand in Marcy Johnson’s sweaty glove, avoiding her feet as the two of them try to translate the director’s droning voice into a passable Cotton-Eye Joe. He’d managed a decent one in the three weeks it took him to blow that joint, but he suspects the Let’s Not Stick Our Hands Up In Each Other’s Issues tango is going to be harder.

Another twenty-seven minutes and Karkat is finally up, although he doesn’t look any more rested than Dave feels. The grass has left indentations on his cheek; he looks fully ridiculous. "Should’ve woken me up earlier," he mutters. "Come on, let’s just go."

Dave can’t think of anything to say that won’t send them reeling straight back into danger territory, so he just shrugs. Good fucking god, he’s become bland. He is a lumpy oatmeal bowl of a man, shedding stray bits of milk everywhere he goes.

 

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] has begun pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

GG: hey, dave!   
TG: are you seriously up already  
TG: the plants arent going to go anywhere you know   
GG: they’re sensitive! we were up all night trying to save what we could  
GG: i'm just about to go to bed, actually, i'm really tired  
GG: what about you? karkat woke you up early, i bet :P  
GG: he is such a tightass sometimes!   
TG: nah  
TG: were just trying to get this over with as soon as possible  
TG: its the one thing he and i can agree on i guess   
GG: :/   
TG: what you wanted me gone longer   
GG: of course not! :P  
GG: i guess i just hoped you guys would learn to get along a little better!  
GG: i know he can be REALLY REALLY ANNOYING ugh  
GG: but things go more smoothly when we aren't trying to kill each other, don't you think??   
TG: yeah about that   
GG: dave! :[   
TG: real friends help friends hide bodies jade  
TG: so how bout it we friends or what   
GG: :P  
GG: don't even joke about that, john would be so sad!!   
TG: who says im joking  
TG: rip karkat vantas  
TG: he went peacefully like a whisper  
TG: like when your mother kisses your forehead just before she runs off with the milkman  
TG: the softest kiss goodbye  
TG: all thats left is this empty shell  
TG: it doesnt even get mad at things jade  
TG: hold me plz   
GG: i, um...  
GG: i would if i could??  
GG: i am still not entirely sure what you are saying dave :P   
TG: just messing around really  
TG: i guess  
TG: things got kind of bad yesterday  
TG: said some stuff that was pretty stupid  
TG: its all blown over now but i dont know  
TG: i dont think were ever going to get along awkward silences are probably the best we can do  
TG: theres too much drama shit going on   
GG: hmmmm.... :S  
GG: like what?   
TG: seriously shouldnt you be in bed   
GG: :P :P :P  
GG: if it's private you can just say so silly!!!  
GG: you don't have to get all cagey, geez   
TG: sorry  
TG: you should go to bed though suns coming up and everything   
GG: you are worse than bec ://////  
GG: FINE since i am pretty tired  
GG: i will go to bed  
GG: but we are going to talk about this when you get back!  
GG: i hope you get things sorted out with karkat <3   
TG: yeah  
TG: thanks i guess   
GG: bye! <33333

\-- gardensGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

 

When he turns his attention back to the real world in all its garish glory, Karkat is trying his damnedest to pretend he's not looking at Dave--but of course, hilarious transparency is the theme song of Karkat Vantas's life. "Harley says hi," he tells Karkat.

Karkat grunts. Real advanced civilization, these trolls.

 

***

 

Nothing else to do, really. No matter how many times Jade scowls or John prays to his god of the gushers, there is no force in three universes that will ever get him and Karkat to hold hands around a campfire and sing Kumbaya. (For one thing, the troll version of Kumbaya probably involves eye gouging or hostile takeovers or something.) They'll get along. That'll have to be enough. Dave can be mature, when he wants to be--Dave can quit this poking-at-the-sore thing _whenever he wants_ , thank you very much, and would you look at that, whenever he wants happens to be right the fuck now--and Karkat is theoretically also capable of maturity, if he tries really hard. By the look on his face either he _is_ trying really hard or they're lost.

Dave puts all his chips on All of the Above. It's a shame that doesn't fly in Vegas.

He rides it out for another six and a half minutes, pulling up Tavros's color-by-numbers map on his iShades just in case that'll help, and yeah, Space isn't his domain, but they have definitely passed this weird rock before. "Dude," he says. "Give it up, we're lost."

Karkat sits down on the rock. "Fuck you, Strider," he says, "I know exactly where we're going," but there's no fire in it; he just looks tired.

"Karkles," Dave says, "you don't even have a map. This is Nitram's art project. You were supposed to hang it on the fridge--excuse me, the _thermal hull_ \--after you gave him the gold star."

Karkat is staring at him--his expression's more surprised than sullen, and his mouth twitches a little. For a minute Dave thinks he might actually laugh, but then he turns away, face falling back into its usual scowl. "Don't condescend to me, you asshole."

On the Karkat Vantas Rage-O-Meter, Dave estimates that's about a four. It's a lot better than he usually gets. "We're still lost," he points out.

Karkat opens his mouth, already readying his rant--but then he stops. Shuts his mouth. Opens his mouth. Looks at Dave, and then shuts his mouth again. Apparently Karkat is a walking bowl of oatmeal too, bereft of his metaphors and impotent threats. Honesty is the only thing either of them has left.

Yeah, they're definitely screwed. "Fine," Karkat grumbles. "This map is the shittiest fucking thing--is that supposed to be a rock or a tree?"

"Looks like a giraffe," Dave puts in helpfully.

"Strider, I have no idea what you're talking about."

He snorts. "Just earth babbling, Karkles, nothing doing. Looks like a tree to me, with that green patch there--"

"That's from the grass, you dolt."

Goddamn, but this would be a great place to make a hateflirting joke. "You sure about that? That's a totally different shade, see, this is forest green and that's kelly--which I, being a classy heterosexual dude, totally understand--"

Karkat stops. "Are you fucking with me again, Strider," he says. It's not pitched like a question.

And hell, Dave decides he'll try a little honesty himself. "Yeah, I kind of am."

He's not sure what he's expecting Karkat to do--scream? Launch into one of his pre-programmed diatribes? (That's not fair to Karkat. The diatribes are always, as far as Dave can tell, ad-libbed.) But he just huffs and rolls his eyes; apparently, like Dave, all out of serial killer rage. "We're in the right general area, I'm pretty sure," he says. "The nest can't be far from here. We'll split up--shouldn't take more than one of us to take these assholes out."

"Sure thing, Fearless Leader." He gives Karkat a little mock salute, and starts walking west.

"Are you ever not a douchebag, Strider?" Karkat calls after him.

He doesn't turn. "Never," he calls back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after an eternity of hiatus, here it is!
> 
> I have this strange guilty feeling, like this chapter needs to be mindbogglingly amazing to make up for the fact that it took me four months to post--but well, certain individuals insisted that I put it out now, and after some consideration I think they are right. I can only hope that you find it remotely worth the wait.
> 
> Things should pick up from here! Chapter four will take us back to Happytown Compound and Terezi, and I hope to have it out soon. <3 Thank you for reading, as always.


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